


One bed .... just ... one ... bed

by NairobiWonders



Series: Holiday Road [2]
Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Cold, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Joanlock - Freeform, Room with one bed, christmas fanfic tropes, one bed, only one room left
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 05:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17238203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: This is a continuation of the Snow and Mistletoe fic - you don't have to read the first part but it wouldn't hurt and might explain a thing or two. It is an attempt to hit the holiday/winter fan fic tropes - blizzard, snowed in, one motel room left, one bed, cold, etc. ... but this one got a little serious - they had issues. Please let me know if you see typos, problems, whatnots, I worked on this for awhile and got sort of blind to it.  Thank you for your patience and thank you so much for reading!





	One bed .... just ... one ... bed

An hour passed and the storm showed no sign of letting up; in fact, he believed it to be intensifying. Hands in pocket, Sherlock stood at the window and watched the snow fall. White lines, heightened by the house's decorative lights, slashed across the dense darkness of the suburban night. He reached for his phone, checked the weather forecast and frowned. 

"Watson?" He called out over his shoulder. Three quarters of the room's occupants stopped talking and looked at him. Sherlock, realizing his mistake, slowly turned and sought the comfort of his amused partner's face amongst the sea of Watsons. 

"Joan? May I speak to you for a second?"

She excused herself and crossed the short distance to him.

"I think it might behoove us to say our farewells and head back to the City. The forecast for weather and traffic looks grim."

 

Sherlock stared through the foggy windshield at the red beacons of non-movement, taillights as far as the eye could see, which through the haze of falling snow, was not that far at all. The parkway was practically at a standstill. "Perhaps we should have accepted Scilla's offer to spend the night." 

Joan scrolled through her phone. "If you can take the next exit in about a mile and a half, there's a motel, The Easy Inn, that claims to have rooms available." She put the phone down and assessed his response. "At this rate, it'll be dawn before we get home anyway. Let's just stop and get some rest. 

"Reasonable." He nodded and commenced the process of nudging from one lane to the next in hopes of catching the needed exit.

 

Sherlock and Joan stopped, stood and stared. The room, the only available room, was so small they practically bumped into the bed - the one bed - upon entering. The second strike against the one bed, the first, of course being its solitary status, was its size. It was tiny, about the size of a twin. Two flat pillows lay at its head and a cast iron radiator coldly sat nearby.

"At least it looks clean." Joan tried to find the positive. 

"Hmm," Sherlock did not sound convinced. "If you will check for bedbugs, I shall see if I can motivate that relic into producing more heat."

Ten minutes later, Joan sat on the edge of the bed she had declared bedbug free and shivered. 

Sherlock sat cross-legged on the floor, "Almost ... got it." He twisted the ancient knob with all his might and a hiss, akin to the sound of a dying snake, emanated from the radiator. "I'll go ask the manager for extra blankets for you if you'd like."

"Don't bother." She pulled back the comforter and sheets. "Just get in." She removed her coat and spread it over the bed for extra warmth.

Sherlock looked up at her from his position by the barely heating radiator. "You take the bed. I can sleep here. You know me, I can sleep standing up if need be." He fiddled with the radiator's knob, glanced up at her and quickly looked away. 

Joan shivered as she looked at him in disbelief, "Don't be stupid." She removed her boots. "Take off your coat and shoes and get in bed." She slid in between the freezing cold sheets. "I promise I won't touch you."

He squinted up at her and attempted to put forth his best argument. "Watson, I think it would be best if I ..."

"Sherrrrlllockkk?" She elongated his name producing something between a whine and a plea that caused his shoulders to slump in defeat. Slowly standing up, he removed his coat, carefully placed it over her and hesitated. 

Joan pulled back the covers for him. He stood, shoulders thrown back and stared at her. She stared back unflinching until a shiver of cold ran through her. It worked. Whether genuine or engineered, the sight of her, cold and pleading, worked. 

He conceded, "Fine." Sitting on the bed's edge, he undid his shoe laces. "But let the record show I believe this to be a bad idea." He dropped one shoe and then another. 

She watched him in disbelief. "I have never had to beg a man to get in bed with me until now."

"I'm sure you haven't," he grumbled as he swung his legs up and between the sheets; he shuddered at the shock of cold. Laying flat on his back, he raised the sheets and comforter to cover himself and without thought turned to pull the layers up to cover her. He found her on her side staring at him. "What?" He asked brusquely.

"Nothing. It's just that earlier tonight you had your arm around me and ... we even kissed. Now you look like you're afraid I'm going to maul you." He didn't respond. 

She sighed and turned away from him, careful not to touch his precious body as she did so. "Good night," she muttered icily and flicked the light switch.

A deep silence fell, disrupted only by the occasional knock and wheeze of the old radiator; The lights of passing cars traversed the room's darkness. They lay uncomfortably awake. 

The bed suddenly jiggled and squeaked. Sherlock threw off the covers and stood. "If we are going to do this, we shall do this correctly." 

Joan sat up on her elbows, "What are you doing?"

"I am removing my jacket and I suggest you do the same. The purpose of sharing the bed is to share body heat, yes? Jackets contain that heat to one body rather than allowing both bodies access to it." He placed his jacket on the bed and waited for her to hand him her jacket. She did so and he quickly jumped back into bed.

Joan arranged the covers and assorted coats and jackets so they covered both of them. She laid back.

"Chest to chest is generally acknowledged as most conducive to heat retention in these sort of situations," he proclaimed officiously, trying his best to sound detached and unaffected by her proximity. 

With care, lest she startle him, she adjusted her body so it mirrored his. "Okay if I lay my head close to your shoulder?"

"Mhmm," was his answer and he moved his arm to facilitate her positioning herself.

Facing each other, close but not touching, they lay awkwardly and the silence of a few seconds took on an oppressive interminability.

"Are you okay?" She whispered. 

"Yes," he lied. ".... Are ... are you?"

"Yes." She lied as well. 

Beneath the covers, warmth began to spread through the space between them. 

"I did not intend to upset you with my initial refusal to share the bed." 

She said nothing and waited for him to continue.

"Just now you said I seemed in fear of being mauled..... that was not what I feared." He spoke in a monotone whisper, not looking at her directly. 

"It's alright. I understand." She didn't fully understand. She knew he had boundaries. She knew that physical contact with her was difficult for him; he could profess his love and friendship easily in words but touch was practically nonexistent. Today he had forced himself across those boundaries for her and even in pretense, the caresses, the kiss - she knew it unsettled him. 

He listened to her breathe, sensed her tenseness, knew he could not let her go on thinking he was repulsed by her. "I don't think you do understand." His heart pounded as he re-evaluated the pros and cons of what he was about to say.

"Our actions today in front of your family, my actions, were obviously a sham. Those moments were not ours .... that was not me kissing you ..." he stopped and searched for the words to properly explain. "And yet ... a certain, a certain ... " He sighed. Words were usually not this difficult for him. "Feelings were were produced by those counterfeit actions. I fear that given the opportunity to truly display my affection for you would .... I'm not sure that we could ..." he stopped himself. "Perhaps it's best we not talk about this. We need to rest."

She began to understand. He had felt the pull, the need for more as much as she had. And it scared him. Joan drifted closer to him. 

"We don't need to talk about it." Her hand moved closer to him, fingers lightly touching the material of his shirt. 

"Watson ...."

"We are partners, in everything ....."

"I don't want to destroy us." The pain behind his whisper broke her heart. 

Perhaps this was something best left alone, at least for now. Joan pulled her hand back and adjusted her head on the pillow. "You're right.... Taking off the jackets helped. Much warmer." She masked her own pain behind a gentle smile. "Good night, Sherlock." Joan moved on to her back, slightly turning her head away from him.

The deep silence returned, the room grew somehow darker. He lay still and listened to her breathe, listened to his heart. The radiator hissed and he quietly took stock.

 

The bed was soft and warm, he lay safe beside her ... they would find a way through ... sleep beckoned.... she was beginning to drift when she felt the mattress move. 

She felt him at her side, his breath warm at her ear with the faintest of whispers, "I have never loved anyone as I do you right now in this moment." He softly pressed his lips to her cheek and lingered there. She could feel his heart against her arm, racing almost as fast as hers. 

Joan slowly moved to face him. Eyes wide open, clear and searching, he waited for her. She reached up and traced his lips with her fingertips. He dipped his head and kissed the tips of her fingers, then further lowered his head in search of her lips. Brushing his lips against hers, he gave her time to pull away, to signal no, but to his elation, she did not.

Her hand at his cheek pulled him closer, lips parted and the kiss that started with the same sweetness of affection they had shown in public quickly grew in intensity and need into a very private display of passion. 

A breath was taken and he lay almost on top of her, cheek to cheek, lips once more to her ear, he breathed her in and exhaled her name, "Joan..."

She clenched him to her, burrowing her face in the crook of his neck, disappearing into him. Open mouthed, she kissed the soft whiskered flesh beneath his jaw, moved her lips to his ear and swore her love in puffs of breath, words soft and warm that brought tears to his eyes.

He moved to kiss her once more then carefully, rolled himself, and her with him, so that she lay atop him in his arms. The radiator clanged and hissed. Sherlock and Joan held on and contentedly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
